Synergy
by Angry tortoise
Summary: If you're looking for a story concerning an average guy bound, by rope, to a wooden chair in the corner of a 6ft by 8ft room, this story isn't for you. This is about a magical absconder. Profanities are thrown about here and there; you have been warned. I highly recommend you do not read this. Upon clicking the link, know that you have fallen to the deception of reverse-psychology.


(AUTHOR'S EDIT: The year is 2027, although this tale took place in 2015 onwards. I have since added some extra notes, so be mindful that these additions are from 'the future' shall we say.)

For the sake of being a dick, I'm not going to tell you my name. But what I will tell you is no, I'm not just a few thousand pixels on a screen. I promise. If there's one thing you should know about me, it's that I never break my promises. (AUTHOR'S EDIT: I eventually discovered that I was indeed a few thousand pixels on a screen. I cried for 4 hours and 13 minutes, before remembering where I was, and I resorted to wallowing in self-pity instead.) In fact, contradicting the belief about how elixir only summons us magical beings, I'm made entirely _of_ elixir. If you're reading this, I assume you're human, in which case sub-atomically speaking you merely consist of quarks and electrons. If this was a game of rock-paper-scissors, quarks beat electrons, elixir beats everything. I therefore am better than you.

Bitch.

But let us not dwell on the topic of which race is better, or why us wizards are better, for more important matters are at hand. As you, presumably, have guessed by now, I am a wizard. I don't have a scar on my forehead or a few bothersome hobbits pinned to my side, but I do have a venetian-blue hooded cloak, a golden-buckled leather belt, some ostentatious boots and the ability to spontaneously create and manipulate fire balls. (Once again, human reader, can YOU do that? If the answer is 'no' then you should re-think your life choices and consider a career in wizardry.) I don't have a family or any friends. Three hours ago, I was transitioned from the Barracks to an army camp. However, two hours and 58 minutes ago, I did something no troop had ever done before; I ran away.

And this is my tale. Assuming I have a tale to tell. Unfortunately you're not reading this in a leather-bound book with wonderful illustrations and the most handsome of handwriting, but instead on the screen of an electronical device. Nonetheless, I will do my best to submerge you into my world and the adventures that may or may not lie ahead. The year is 2015. The place is Bongudoo forest, and I have just run away from the village I was born in three hours and one minute ago. Upon birth, I was given my name, and sent to camp 2, but I took the opportunity and ran. I can't remember why. I don't know what I am to do. And worst of all, I am alone.

And so, I sit here on this abnormally large mushroom, surrounded by the idiosyncratic view of peace and solitude. A parchment in one hand, a quill in the other, jotting down what you read now, in the hopes that someday I might be able to share my experiences. I see trees, luminescent in different shades of green, as opposed to battle faces, weaponry and death. I smell fresh oxygen, respired from the nearby tree or shrub or blade of grass, as opposed to sweat, blood and the pollution that tarnishes the once pure air. I hear birds, singing harmoniously, and a Lion's growl, as opposed to the firing of cannons, war cries of soldiers and the mechanical whirring and churning of mines. Yet I can't help but feel a twinge of guilt in my heart for defying my true purpose: war. I look around, and – wait, did I say 'Lion's growl'?

Bollocks. I was just getting sentimental.

Another, louder snarl emerges from behind me, and my heart beat quickens. I turn around, and see the lion. I then see the curious creature sat on top of it, peering inquisitively at me. I recognize her breed from the two brief minutes I spent in the village; she is an archer. An angry one, at that – she didn't look anywhere but straight into my eyes. In rank of scariness, from least scary to most scary, would be:

The lion

The archer's facial expression

The arrow she had just shot at my head, nanoseconds away from killing me.

But before we get to that, you need to know a brief bit about Bongudoo forest. Firstly, rumors have it that many a beast are indigenous to this deathtrap. Secondly, upon knowing where to hide, the forest is quite the opposite of a deathtrap and more a safe haven for the vulnerable. Thirdly, you cannot hide in the forest without something finding you.

Furthermore, I should tell you of what I did during the 2 hours and 58 minutes after I escaped. Having anticipated the possibility of being encountered by a threat in the forest, I used my ''Book of spells' book' book to create an invisible shield around me. Had the archer been looking at the ground beneath the mushroom I was sat on, she would have seen a circle of ignimbrite surrounding both mushroom and I. Had the archer been where she was 2 hours and 4 minutes after I had escaped, she would have seen me muttering an incantation upon the circle of ignimbrite rocks.

And so, the arrow heading towards me simply shattered into a few million shards of wood and metal.

The archer looked startled, and then she looked dead.

I killed her.

A gaping hole lay where her stomach had once been, elixir-fueled blood gushing out onto the lion's mane. The life had left her eyes on impact, her skin drained of fleshy-pink color, and her corpse fell to the ground with a dainty 'thud'.

The lion absconded away, and I also vacated the area, in fear of getting my boots stained with blood. After walking 285 meters, I came across a cave. It is, most likely, occupied. As I enter, I hear a murmur of voices. The cave was surprisingly miniscule, and I quickly found out a group of goblins were sitting around a fire. But they were all dead. I just killed them all, without hesitation. I don't like to take chances, so it seemed sensible. Additionally, if I hadn't killed them, they probably wouldn't have given up their loot or their weapons or their cave. The whole place was just what I needed. Other than the musty, damp state of the walls, the stench of goblin, the floor with the insides of goblins spewed all over them, the lack of hygiene, the ceiling dripping with acid, and the overall horribleness of the cave, this was perfect. I knew what I had to do, and I began to do it.

(AUTHOR'S EDIT: If only I hadn't been able to run away, if only the archer or her lion had killed me, if only I wasn't such a satanic person, then lots of people would still be alive. At that point, I figured I would probably be the antagonist of my tale, I just didn't know that I would eventually reign this world with terror and evil and a pet turtle.

Ah well.

I'm dead now.)


End file.
